


The Manchurian Soldier

by luckyfilbert



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Manchurian Candidate (1962)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mind Control, Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:12:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1533842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckyfilbert/pseuds/luckyfilbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bucky Barnes was the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human being I've ever known in my life," they said, to a man. Gabe Jones said it, Jim Morita said it, Steve Rogers said it. It was such a pity he died in the war.</p>
<hr/><p>A look at the Winter Soldier's conditioning, in the style of the Manchurian Candidate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Manchurian Soldier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EHyde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EHyde/gifts).



> EHyde requested a three-sentence fic and I got carried away. If y'all haven't seen the 1962 Manchurian Candidate, you're missing out: it's a delightfully camp, creepy classic. I saw it when I was probably too young and it's influenced probably too many of my interactions with solitaire.

_Bucky Barnes was a good man. They all said it. "Bucky Barnes was the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human being I've ever known in my life," they said, to a man. Gabe Jones said it, Jim Morita said it, Steve Rogers said it. It was such a pity he died in the war._

* * *

The queen of diamonds.

Huh. Solitaire. Must be a late night if he's playing solitaire alone instead of . . . the other card game, that he plays with . . . anyway. Funny table too. Metal, and something like spilled jam in that corner. Something else metal, shiny, in the corner of his eye. Huh, it's like a hand. The cards are in it. Moving. . . . It's—

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

It goes all the way up. All the—all—oh my god. Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god where's my arm where is my arm what the fucking hell is my fucking arm my

And a hoarse, grating, gasping scream—

"Soldier." Round spectacles. "Soldier! Why don't you pass the time by playing a little solitaire?"

But his arm, his arm, but—right. Right. Solitaire. The cards flip in the hand. Five of clubs, seven of spades, queen of clubs, queen—

* * *

—of diamonds.

Huh. Solitaire. Not a bad game.

Interesting table. Shiny, a little slippery for cards. The hand is a little slippery on the cards too. The hand is—is—interesting. It's interesting.

"Soldier." Round spectacles. Round face. Round hands, sweeping the cards off the slippery table. Setting down several pieces of metal. "Commence."

Commence what, he was playing a game. 

Round hand, hard against his face. "Commence."

The hand twitches forward, picks up a piece. A gun. Part of a gun. His hand joins the hand and soon a gun sits before him.

"Good."

His hand inches away.

"Now, soldier. Fire."

Round finger, pointing. At a man. Shorter, no, sitting. Kneeling. His face is shiny and red.

"Fire."

The hand grips the gun, but his hand curls toward himself, toward a growling sound thrumming in his chest.

"Soldier!"

Cold air on his teeth, bared. He will shoot who he wants. Not the shiny-faced man.

"Very well." Round hands removing the gun. "Why don't you pass the time by playing a little solitaire?"

Solitaire. Yes, much better than shooting people. ace of spades, four of clubs, queen—

* * *

—of diamonds.

Huh. Solitaire. Fun game.

The cards are replaced by a set of pieces. "Soldier, commence." A gun sits before him. "Soldier, fire."

Round face, in front of him. Round mouth, smiling.

Yes. Yes, he will fire.

_Crash,_ and then another crash, and pain behind his head and the ceiling is very bright. Very bright.

"Soldier." The round face, less round, more pinched, leaning down at him. "Why don't you—pass the time—by playing a little—solitaire."

Oh, solitaire, good. But how will he play without the slippery table. The hand flips cards over anyway, into the air: ten of diamonds, four of spades, two of hearts, queen—

* * *

—of diamonds.

"Commence." And he makes the gun. "Fire." And he looks at the shiny red-faced man. The hand pulls the trigger.

Hot splatters on his face.

The hand wipes it away. Reaches for the cards. Round face, watching him, silently. 

Three of spades, jack of hearts, nine of spades, eight of clubs, queen—


End file.
